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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26253850">Defined by Disease</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeddysHoney/pseuds/TeddysHoney'>TeddysHoney</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Blaine Has Fibromyalgia [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Glee</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Crying, Discussions of Fibro, Family, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pain, fibromyalgia</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 03:21:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>11,784</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26253850</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeddysHoney/pseuds/TeddysHoney</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Burt, Carole, and Finn are coming for a visit and to see Kurt in his show on opening night. Blaine is trying to get everything ready for them to show up, but it's far more difficult than it used to be, especially as he finds himself in the middle of a flare. This story will chronicle Burt, Carole, and Finn's entire visit, how they deal with Blaine's flare, how Blaine struggles with their responses, and how Kurt is as amazing as he can be in helping the whole lot of them understand one another.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel, Carole Hudson-Hummel/Burt Hummel</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Blaine Has Fibromyalgia [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1790116</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>40</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/voyagehk/gifts">HKVoyage (voyagehk)</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This story is a gift for HKvoyage as she prompted this story on the last installment of this series. Her prompt: What would Kurt ideally do when Blaine is experiencing pain that would help? Let's say Burt and Carole are visiting, and Blaine feels poorly. What would be the ideal way for Kurt to deal with it and give Blaine some sense of dignity? The reason I'm asking is that it could be beneficial for readers to learn how to help. <br/>I hope that, by the time this story is complete, I will have answered these questions thoroughly. There are many layers to this to unpack, but I wanted to get this part out into the world so I can concentrate on what comes next. Thank you for prompting this, HKvoyage, and I hope this story helps! </p><p>I want to especially thank my beta, @jayhawk-writes, for her help on this story, but also for her kind and loving approach toward me every day. She, almost as much as my husband, knows how much I am affected by my pain, and she's always there for me. I can't begin to tell you how grateful I am for that, my dear, so just know that I love you for it. </p><p>I also just want to say that the stories in this series depict real life for me. Others with fibromyalgia and chronic pain may experience things differently or have other coping methods. Writing these stories is a therapy for me and, I hope, helps others suffering to know they're not alone. Thank you for reading. :)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Burt and Carole are coming. Blaine’s been in the middle of a flare all week, but they’re still coming. Kurt’s opening night is Friday, and they’re coming to see him perform. So, Blaine’s been doing his best to clean the house, make extra food, go shopping, and do all the things he used to do to his standards before he got fibro. It’s so much harder now than it ever used to be, though, especially when he’s in the middle of a flare. Sweeping the floor wipes him out for at least an hour. His arm throbs after three swipes with the vacuum cleaner. Going to the store means resting for several hours afterward, and he can’t even carry in the grocery bags; he has to have Kurt do it. Just getting out of bed in the mornings is a chore, and he hardly ever gets started on anything before 10 o’clock anymore. He sighs as he glances at the clock on the stove. He still needs to start dinner, but he feels dead on his feet. All he really wants to do is crawl back into bed and sleep until Burt and Carole have gone home. Maybe, if he could do that, for once, he’d wake up refreshed. It’s not likely, though.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This isn’t the first time Burt and Carole have come to visit since Blaine got fibro, but it’s the first time they’ll see him in the middle of a flare. When he noticed the first signs cropping up on Sunday, he was sure that if he took care of himself, took it easy, took his meds, and just relaxed for a day or two that the flare would be over before they came. But now, it’s Thursday, and he still feels as bad as ever; so, he knows that’s not going to happen. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It’s probably stress, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he laments. Stress always makes his fibro symptoms worse. Kurt will be home from his final rehearsal late, so it’s up to Blaine to entertain Burt and Carole until he gets home which just makes the ache at the back of his skull throb even more. And, it’s not that he doesn’t love his in-laws, because he truly does. It’s just that everything is harder during a flare, and he just hopes he has the energy to do this.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Blaine’s phone tings, indicating he’s got a text message. Slowly, he limps towards his phone. It’s from Carole. When he opens it, he sighs, his pain seeming to intensify in that exact moment. Carole’s sent him a picture of them at the airport, collecting their baggage. Finn’s with them; he’s completely forgotten that Finn was coming, too. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Great</span>
  </em>
  <span>. There’s a text with the picture. “We just landed! See you in half an hour! :)”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Perfect. Not!</span>
  </em>
  <span> He’s barely going to have dinner started before they walk in the door, and standing feels like a cruel and unusual punishment right now. He’s not going to do it. Maybe he can convince his in-laws to order pizza for dinner. He just can’t cook right now. Leaning back against the couch, Blaine allows his eyes to shut for just a merciful few seconds. Surprisingly, this does make the ache at the back of his head feel better. Marginally.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When he opens his eyes again, it’s to the sounds of knocking at the front door. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Did I actually manage to fall asleep?</span>
  </em>
  <span> he asks himself as he groggily rubs at his eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The knocking comes again, a little more insistent.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Coming!” he calls, forcing himself up from the couch faster than he wants to. The ache has intensified while he was asleep. Walking is hard. Blinking is hard. Breathing is hard. When he finally makes it to the door, he pauses for a moment, trying to school his features. The Hudson-Hummels know about his fibro, but they don’t really know how much it affects him. From what he’s read, he’s dreaming if he thinks anyone besides maybe Kurt will ever understand. And, if he’s being honest, he really doesn’t want them to know how much it affects him. The last thing he wants is to be pitied.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Once he’s sure that he’s wiped most of the traces of a grimace off of his face, he pulls the door open and is surprised to find not his in-laws but his husband on the other side of the door. “Kurt?” he asks, completely confused, stepping aside so Kurt can enter. “I thought you had a late rehearsal.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I begged off,” Kurt says, coming inside and letting his duffel bag fall to the floor with a relieved sigh. “I told Miriam and Will that we’d been practicing all day, and my family was coming to town; they agreed I needed my vocal rest.” He smiles, pulling Blaine into a light embrace, careful not to press on him too hard. “How are you?” he asks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ve been better,” Blaine mumbles into his chest.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry I made you get the door. I must have dropped my keys in my duffel bag somewhere; they weren’t in my pocket like I thought they would be.” He steps back, grabbing up his bag again. “I’m just going to go change and see if I can’t get some of this stage makeup off before Dad and Carole show up. They should be here soon; Carole sent a picture of them at the baggage claim.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. I got that, too,” Blaine says, shuffling slowly toward the couch. “I forgot that Finn was coming, too.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kurt nods. “What did you get started for dinner?” he asks, pausing at the entrance to the hallway. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Blaine lowers his gaze, staring pointedly at a loose carpet thread. “I didn’t,” he mumbles, feeling tears begin to spring into his eyes. “I sat down on the couch to look at Carole’s text, and I fell asleep.” He feels one large, hot tear begin to slide down his cheek. “I’m sorry. I’m worthless today…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” Kurt whispers, dropping his bag again to kneel beside Blaine’s seated form. “You’re not worthless.” He tilts Blaine’s chin up until they’re making eye contact. “Be honest,” Kurt says. “How many breaks have you taken today?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Shrugging, Blaine answers, “I’ve done a lot of sitting, but I was still trying to do stuff.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And, have you had enough water?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Blaine shakes his head.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Come with me,” Kurt tells him, standing and holding out a hand to his husband. He gently helps Blaine up off the couch and escorts him to their bedroom. “I want you to lay down for a little while with the heating pad. How’s your head?” he asks as he flicks on the bedroom light.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“‘S okay,” Blaine admits. “The back of my neck is pretty sore, though. But Kurt, I can’t lay down. Burt, Carole, and Finn will be here any minute.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You can lay down,” Kurt says, pulling back the blanket and helping Blaine in. “I can entertain them for a while. You need your rest.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“They’re going to think something’s wrong with me…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shh,” Kurt replies, leaning over to press a kiss to his husband’s lips. “You need to take care of yourself. That’s the most important thing. I can handle my family.” Kurt turns, shuffling around under Blaine’s nightside stand for a moment, finally producing a large heating pad. Plugging it in, he hands the pad off to Blaine before opening the drawer and grabbing out a bottle of peppermint oil. “Let me put some of this on the back of your neck,” he says, waiting until Blaine has rolled himself onto his side to swipe some of the immediately cool liquid across the nape of Blaine’s neck. “Just rest until dinner comes. I’m thinking pizza.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Blaine nods, sniffling. “You’re so good to me, Kurt,” he whispers, raising a hand to swipe some of the tears off of his cheeks. “I love you so much.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I love you, too,” Kurt replies, leaning over to kiss away a few of Blaine’s tears. “Now, no more crying. I’ve got everything under control.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” Blaine whispers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quickly, Kurt changes and, with a final kiss to Blaine’s lips, steps out into the living room. He straightens the pillows that got mussed in Blaine’s attempts to get up, and he cleans a few pens and pencils Blaine had been using off of the table. Then, he pads into the kitchen to get a pizza menu. “May as well go ahead and order,” he mumbles to himself, calling the restaurant. He orders three large pizzas and a large order of cinnamon breadsticks. Just as he’s hanging up, there’s pounding on the front door. “Coming!” he calls, hurrying to open the door for his parents.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Almost immediately, Kurt is tackled by Finn. “It’s good to see you, bro!” the other man enthuses, slapping Kurt’s back just a little too hard for his liking. “Where’s Blaine? I wanna give him a big bear hug!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Blaine’s resting right now,” Kurt explains, stepping back from the door so Burt and Carole can come in, too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why isn’t he out here?” Finn asks, his brow furrowing in confusion. He takes a deep breath. “BLA—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt slaps a hand over his mouth, cutting off his yell. “You will </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> call for him,” Kurt hisses. “He’s resting because he’s been working himself to the bone in the middle of a flare, and he’s in so much pain he was crying! Keep. Your. Mouth. Shut.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finn frowns. “Flare? I don’t understand that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We talked about this, Finn,” Carole interrupts. “That means that Blaine’s having extra pain, remember?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess,” Finn admits. “I don’t really get this fibro thing… Are you sure it’s real?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt can’t do anything but open and shut his mouth a few times. He can feel the anger coursing through his body, and more than anything, he’d like to slap Finn right in the face for asking such a stupid thing. Thankfully, Carole saves him again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fibromyalgia is a very real, very painful thing, Finn, and while we’re here, I expect you to be nothing but nice and respectful to Blaine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Burt speaks for the first time, and no one expects what comes out of his mouth. “You know, if our coming is too stressful for him, we can stay somewhere else. We don’t have to stay with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dad, that’s not necessary,” Kurt assures them. “He’s—” He cuts off, feeling completely unprepared to talk about this. It’s not that he can’t; he just doesn’t like to speak for Blaine. Sometimes, though, he needs to for Blaine’s own sake. His husband is far too quick to brush off his condition as unimportant, and Kurt firmly believes that his pain is far too important to not be given the correct respect. “Why don’t I show you where you’ll be sleeping, and you can put your suitcases away? I ordered pizza delivery, and we can talk about this until the pizza shows up. I… I really want you guys to understand.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sounds good, honey,” Carole says, patting his shoulder comfortingly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Follow me,” Kurt instructs, leading them down the hallway. He stops at the first bedroom on the right. “Dad, Carole, this will be your room.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” his dad answers, sliding into the room. “We’ll just unpack a little bit, and then we’ll come back out to talk.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt flashes his father a thumbs up and continues on down the hallway, past his and Blaine’s door on the left to the second bedroom on the right. “This is your room, Finn,” he says. Then, he points toward his own bedroom door. “This is where Blaine and I sleep, and you’ll keep your voice down and not bother Blaine while he’s resting,” he instructs, waiting until he gets a nod from his brother before walking away. “Come back out quickly,” he calls back over his shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>About five minutes later, everyone is seated in the living room, and Kurt’s pacing back and forth, trying to come up with the words to say. He wants to take some of the pressure off of Blaine by explaining to everyone what he’s going through, but he’s not sure the best way to do this. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Blaine would know</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he laments. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He’s the one that’s good with words.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Taking a deep breath, Kurt finally says. “Look. Blaine’s been in the middle of a flare for the past four or so days. He won’t admit it all the time, but it’s been pretty bad lately. It’s probably, mostly from stress.” He raises his hands to stop his dad from talking like he can see he’s about to. “A lot of it is self-imposed stress, Dad. He wanted things to be nice and up to his standards for your visit. We both know you don’t expect perfection, but you know Blaine; he still has to try. He still feels like he has something to prove, and he probably always will.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re sure it’s not too much for him, though?” Burt asks anyway. “I don’t want the poor kid to be sobbing because we’re coming.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s really not you. The same thing happens when we go out somewhere. He wants everything to be perfect.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finn frowns again. “So, why does he have this…fibro…thing and I don’t? Will you get it? Is it genetic?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Honestly, no one knows why you get fibro,” Kurt says, looking at Carole. “Medically, that’s right, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Carole nods. “Yes. The causes aren’t known. There are supposed reasons like psychological stress or severe abuse, but no doctor has been able to come up with a definitive way to predict if someone will or will not get fibro.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt smiles at her, thanking his lucky stars that Carole is a damn good nurse who takes her job seriously. She’s been a blessing to him on more than one occasion during this journey with Blaine, and Kurt knows he’ll never stop being appreciative of all that she knows.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right. So, we think that Blaine’s stressor was psychological, a response to me being gone on tour.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, he just like… hurts sometimes?” Finn asks. “Doesn’t everyone?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s part of the problem, Finn,” Kurt sighs, trying desperately to keep the irritation out of his voice. “A lot of people believe things about fibro that are completely incorrect. It’s not just pain sometimes. It’s pain all day, every day. It never ever stops.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sounds terrible,” Finn mutters, staring at the carpet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is,” Kurt agrees.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And, people ask that all the time? Like, to Blaine? When he’s there?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. That and a lot of other things. They ask him if he exercises enough or drinks enough water. They think that if he would just do simple things like that, he’d be cured of his fibro.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And that’s wrong?” Finn asks, still not making eye contact with his brother.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. He’s never going to be cured, Finn. There are things that can make him feel better sometimes, but he’s always going to have this…” Kurt’s almost tearing up just saying those words. He knows Blaine still struggles with it. Some days, he can accept it, but others, he cries for hours, not knowing how he can possibly live one more day knowing that each day will just be an eternal, painful repeat. He’s working on it with his therapist, but some days are still hard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That sucks…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Kurt says, chuckling lightly and wiping at his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And, Kurt, how are you holding up through all this?” Carole asks. “You’re taking care of him a lot. Are you getting what you need, too?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love Blaine more than anything in the entire world,” Kurt says, stopping his pacing to look Carole in the eyes. “I don’t mind taking care of him. It’s really the least I can do. He still does so much around here, so much more than I’d be able to do if I had all that pain that never went away.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just make sure you’re taking care of you, too,” Carole said. “Every good nurse needs that.” She smiles good-naturedly at him, winning a smile back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, when do we get to see Blaine?” Finn asked. “I wanna give him a hug.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m going to go get him when the pizza gets here,” Kurt says. “And, you can hug him, but you have to be careful. Don’t squeeze him too hard. That will hurt him more.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay.” Finn nods resolutely, and for a moment there’s silence. Then, he says, “Can we talk about something happier now? All this is making me feel depressed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure,” Kurt agrees, taking a seat beside his brother. “So, Dad. How are things at the tire shop?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Hudson-Hummels make pleasant conversation until there’s a knock on the door, signaling that the pizza has arrived. After paying for it and pulling out paper plates, Kurt says, “Go ahead and get some. We can just eat in the living room tonight, that way Blaine has somewhere comfortable to sit. I’m going to go get him.” Then, he takes off down the hallway. When he enters the bedroom, he sees Blaine wrapped in a blanket on the bed, lying on his side, the heating pad wrapped around his shoulders. He’s typing something on his phone, tears streaming down his face. “Oh, honey…” Kurt says, coming to sit on the edge of the bed. “What’s wrong?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing,” Blaine mumbles, stopping his typing to wipe at his eyes. “I’m just…I’m just writing a poem.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s making you cry?” Kurt asks softly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine nods. “Do you want to read it? It’s basically done.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Kurt agrees, taking the phone from his still sniffling husband. His eyes scan quickly over the words.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Dear fibromyalgia,</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>FUCK YOU!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I hate you.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I hate what you’ve done to me.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I hate what you’ve done to my life.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I hate that I can’t sit or stand or lay down comfortably anymore.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I hate that my skin is disgusting. It’s painful and bumpy, and I almost never want anyone to touch me.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I hate that my hair falls out.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I hate that I can’t remember anything.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I hate that I can’t remember simple, elementary words.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I hate that I can’t remember names.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I hate that I can barely write some days.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I hate that it hurts to be hugged.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I hate that it’s too much work to take a shower, get food, or get out of bed some days.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I hate that you stole the things I love to do.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I hate that I can’t write some days because my fingers hurt too much to move them.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I hate that I no longer want to travel the world because leaving the house is so hard.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I hate that I no longer want my family to visit me.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I hate that I no longer want to go back to where I grew up.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I hate that I can’t go to the grocery store without needing a three-hour nap.</span>
  </em>
</p><p><em><span>I hate that I can’t clean the house</span></em> <em><span>because I can barely bend over.</span></em></p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I hate that walking hurts.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I hate that I’m afraid to have a family or be who I’ve always wanted to be.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I hate that I can’t even be physically intimate with my husband when I want to be.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But more than that…</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I hate that you’ve stolen my life.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I hate that you make me feel worthless.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I hate that you make me feel stupid.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I hate that you make me feel depressed.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I hate that you make me feel anxious.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I hate that you’ve taken so much from me that I no longer feel like me.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I hate you.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I hate you more than anything I’ve ever hated in my life.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Dear fibromyalgia,</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>FUCK YOU!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Now Kurt’s sniffling, too, and he wipes away a few tears from his face as he carefully hands Blaine his phone back. “I’m so sorry, my love. I’m so, so sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay,” Blaine says, patting gently at Kurt’s knee. “It’s not your fault. You know that. I’ve told you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sometimes it still feels like it,” Kurt admits softly. “I was the one who left. I was the one who was gone and too busy to talk to you when you needed me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kurt,” Blaine says more intently this time. He struggles to sit up more so he can take his husband’s hand into his own. “This. Is. Not. Your. Fault. I promise. I don’t blame you, and neither should you. This is no one’s fault; it’s just something that happened, and as much as we hate it, there’s nothing we can do to change it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It just kills me to see you hurting like this,” Kurt says quietly. “To know that you’re always in pain, even when you’re feeling better and being your normal, goofy self. I just…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m okay,” Blaine reassures him. “I mean, as okay as I can be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt chuckles softly, leaning in to press a tender kiss to his husband’s lips. “Are you hungry?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine nods. “I didn’t have lunch,” he admits quietly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, we’d better get out there,” Kurt says. “Finn’s already got his food, and all three of the pizzas I ordered will be gone if we don’t get out there soon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine laughs at that. “You’re right. Let’s go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Together, Kurt and Blaine slowly make their way to the kitchen, and Kurt fixes himself and Blaine plates while Blaine rests in a chair at the dining room table. Then, Kurt helps him up and back into the living room, getting him seated in the recliner with his legs up and a heating pad spread across his knees before he sits down to eat his own pizza. They all eat in silence for a few moments, all of them engrossed in their food.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Since Finn is the first to finish his plate, he’s the first to speak. “Blaine, I’m sorry people are so rude to you,” he says, not looking at his brother-in-law.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine gives him a funny look. “Um, it’s okay? I think…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want to give you a hug,” Finn explains.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks like he’s about to get up, so Blaine quickly asks, “Can I finish my pizza first? Then, you can give me that hug.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure!” Finn says, and everyone laughs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rest of the evening is pleasant. They play a few board games together, and no one comments when Blaine winces as he leans forward or changes positions. No one questions that Kurt brings him several glasses of water, some ibuprofen, some peppermint oil, and moves the heating pad around for him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, around 11, Carole announces that she’s tired. “I want to go to bed, don’t you, dear?” she asks her husband, looking at him meaningfully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. I’m beat. Long flight,” he says, pushing himself up from the floor. “Finn, boys, you off to bed, too?” he asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We are,” Kurt says. “Finn, you’re welcome to stay up and watch TV if you’re not tired yet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um…I—Blaine, can I—could I get that hug now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure,” Blaine answers. Once Kurt’s helped him up, he opens his arms for his brother-in-law.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Carefully, Finn wraps his arms around Blaine’s middle, being sure not to really squeeze or touch him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay to use a little pressure, Finn,” Blaine says as he slowly wraps his arms around the other man. “Don’t worry. You won’t break me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But Kurt said—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay. I promise,” Blaine reassures him. “Just a little.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” Finn says, looping his arms a little tighter around Blaine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s perfect,” Blaine says, patting Finn’s back awkwardly a few times. “Thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re welcome,” Finn says, backing off. “Okay. I’m going to bed now. Good night.” He gave his brother and brother-in-law a small wave and then headed off down the hallway to his room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ready for bed?” Kurt asks, turning to his husband.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. I’m exhausted,” Blaine admits. “Can you get the lights if I go lay down?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” Kurt says, giving him a quick kiss to the lips. “I’ll be in in a moment.” When he arrives in their bedroom a few minutes later, Blaine is already under the blankets again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What did you tell them earlier?” he asks, rubbing some cream designed to help with the rash on his arms into his skin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We just talked a little about fibro and how it affects you,” Kurt says with a shrug, dressing down to his boxers. “Finn didn’t really know much, so I told him a little bit about it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you tell him I’d break if he touched me?” Blaine questions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. I just told him to be careful.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, thank you,” Blaine says, smiling at his husband. “You’re amazing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kurt doesn’t reply to that. Instead, he says, “I feel bad that you did so much this week to get ready for my family to come. I hardly helped you at all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You were busy,” Blaine says with a tiny shrug. “I just did what needed to be done while you were at rehearsals. You did a lot, too, once you got home.” He sighs, putting the lotion away. “Honestly, with all the breaks I take, I end up barely doing anything. It makes me feel lazy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>lazy,” Kurt says. “You’re wonderful, so handsome and perfect, and I love you so, so much.” Leaning over, he switches off the lamp, settling down on his back. “Come snuggle with me, handsome,” he says once he’s settled. “I’ve missed my perfect man so much.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m far from perfect,” Blane protests into the dark, moving to cuddle against Kurt, his head on his chest, even as he says this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, you’re perfect to me,” Kurt replies, wrapping an arm lightly around him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blaine gives him a quick peck on the chest. “I love you so much. Thanks for taking such good care of me,” he whispers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll always take care of you,” Kurt reassures. “I love you, too. So much.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It doesn’t take long for Kurt to fall asleep, snoring gently. Blaine smiles as he lays there, still awake. He’ll never tell Kurt that he snores, but he loves listening to it at night. It’s soothing, like a sleeping soundtrack made just for him. He gently traces a finger down Kurt’s chest to his perfect abs and back up, willing himself to focus on Kurt’s breathing and heartbeat in his ear. It takes a while, almost an entire hour, but finally, Blaine slips into a light sleep, thinking about how much he adores the man who is currently his pillow. </span>
  <em>
    <span>More than anything in the world</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he thinks as he drifts off. </span>
  <em>
    <span>So, so much.</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Blaine is surprised when he wakes up after eight the next morning. He’s even more surprised when he laboriously rolls onto his side to find Kurt staring at him with a gentle smile on his face. “Good morning,” Blaine manages to mumble, giving his husband a confused look. “Why are you already awake, and why are you staring at me?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Just admiring how handsome you are,” Kurt whispers. When Blaine’s frown deepens, he says, “Vocal rest, remember?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Right. Right.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How are you feeling this morning?” Kurt asks, reaching out to rub a thumb up and down Blaine’s cheek. It’s soft and warm, crisscrossed with pillow creases, and Kurt thinks his husband is incredibly sexy like this. If he could, if it wouldn’t hurt Blaine or potentially keep him from performing his best on opening night, he’d do Blaine right then and there. He’d lovingly remove his clothing piece by piece, lavishing his skin with kisses and praise. But Kurt knows that now isn’t the time. First-thing-in-the-morning sex is just something that Blaine can’t do anymore. It’s sad, but Kurt loves his husband no matter what.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not really sure yet,” Blaine admits with a sigh. He has a pretty good idea that it’s about as bad as it was the day before, but he doesn’t want to put a damper on their morning this early. It’s better for his husband to find out when he sits up or climbs out of bed. “I’ll figure it out when I go to get up.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kurt smiles and nods. “Do you want to get up now?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Blaine shakes his head. “Not unless you do; we haven’t gotten to just lay here and talk for awhile. I miss it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Me, too.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There are a few beats of silence as each of the boys think about what they might like to say. It’s Kurt that speaks first. “I’m really nervous about opening night tonight.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The show is only running for three weeks. In order to really make any money, I have to fill the seats every night. What if the first night is bad? It’s only a six-nights-a-week show instead of eight. What if I’m bad </span>
  <em>
    <span>and </span>
  </em>
  <span>people are upset that there are only 18 shows?” He wants to go on, but Blaine holds a finger up to his lips.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Stop.” He moves in closer so he can press a soft kiss to Kurt’s lips, his finger slipping away. “You are an amazing actor, Kurt. I’ve never doubted you for one minute, and you shouldn’t either. Your first nine shows are already sold out, and the others aren’t far behind. You’re not going to mess this up. You’ve been working so hard in rehearsals for the last four months, and Will knows you’re great at your job. That’s why you got the part.” He pauses, searching his husband’s eyes for a few moments. “You’re going to be amazing, and I’m going to be there to cheer you on. I’m already so proud of you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kurt swallows away the lump that’s rising in his throat. He’s supposed to be whispering if he has to talk at all today, and it’s a good thing because he can barely get words out right now. “What did I do to deserve you?” he asks, his voice trembling, his eyes filling with unshed tears.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The same thing I did to deserve the world’s best nurse.” He scoots just a bit closer until their noses are touching, and both of the boys just lay there together, eyes closed, noses touching, hands tangled together. They’ve forgotten how much they need these quiet moments, and they’re both thankful they’re being afforded them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They don’t move until the faint smell of coffee brewing wafts in, and Kurt’s stomach growls loudly in response.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I think that’s our cue,” Blaine chuckles, rolling back onto his back and pushing himself up into a sitting position.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kurt follows him, leaning in close to whisper in his ear, “Thank you for always being my rock,” before slipping out of bed and around to Blaine’s side, extending an arm to help him up. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As soon as Blaine’s feet hit the floor, the fire returns, rolling through his body from his toes to the top of his head as if he’s literally stepped into the middle of a flame. He winces loudly, his eyes closing and his head falling forward in exhaustion for a moment before he straightens up and allows Kurt to lead him slowly to the bathroom. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When Blaine arrives in the dining room a few minutes later, he finds a steaming cup of coffee already sitting on the table, waiting for him. Kurt’s standing by the stove, setting a kettle of water on for tea, and Carole is sitting at the table, browsing her phone.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She smiles at him as he winces his way to the table, sitting down heavily in his chair. “Good morning,” Carole says cheerily, taking a sip of her coffee. “Still pretty sore today?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Blaine answers, taking a tiny sip of his own coffee. “Still flaring apparently.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry. If we can do anything, please let us know. We know it’s important to you to be at Kurt’s opening night tonight, and we’ll get you there. Promise.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thanks.” Blaine smiles at her this time, glancing toward Kurt as he comes to sit down.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Got the water on,” he comments. “Where are Dad and Finn? Still sleeping?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I think so,” Carole answers. “They were pretty beat last night, and I know Finn didn’t fall asleep easily. Planes wear your dad out.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know,” Kurt agrees, leaning on his elbows for a moment. All of a sudden, he jumps up. “I want to go get into the shower before they get up. I’ll have to leave around noon for makeup, hair, and final costume fittings. Watch my water for me?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of course, dear,” Carole says, smiling at him. “Take your shower. Your tea will be ready when you get back.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As Kurt darts away, he gives Carole a thumbs up and blows Blaine a kiss. Then, he disappears into the bathroom.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’s silence again at the table, and Blaine doesn’t know what to say. Truth be told, he feels a little awkward around Carole. It’s not that she’s not nice to him. She always has been, even more so now that he has fibro. It’s just that, before he and Kurt left for New York, they never got to know one another well. Most of what they talked about then was school; Kurt’s school. Since his diagnosis, a lot of their conversations have centered around fibromyalgia. Blaine appreciates that Carole wants to know how he’s doing and see if she can offer any advice or help; she’s the mothering type. Doing that is natural for her. And, it’s refreshing sometimes to have someone ask him how he’s truly doing. He knows he doesn’t have to hide around her. However, fibro isn’t the only thing going on in his life, even though it affects every moment of every day. Sometimes, it’s nice to forget that he has the disease. Sometimes, he just wants to be a normal person, too.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When Carole speaks, she surprises her son-in-law. “How’s your writing coming?” she asks. Clicking her phone screen off, she sets it aside, turning to look at Blaine. “Last I knew, you were working on a poetry book. Is that right?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Swallowing his sip of coffee, Blaine nods. “That’s true. I’m almost done with it, actually. I have a few more poems to edit before I can self-publish, but I think I can be ready in less than a month.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A wide smile spreads across Carole’s face. “Blaine, that’s amazing! Congratulations! We should have a party before Burt, Finn, and I leave on Sunday. That’s a wonderful accomplishment that deserves to be celebrated.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Blaine smiles bashfully. “Thanks,” he says softly. “It’s really nothing. Most of the poems are just things I messed around with in high school. They’re nothing groundbreaking or anything.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, I haven’t read them yet, but I’m sure they’re wonderful,” Carole replies, ignoring his belittling of his accomplishments. “Speaking of published poems, though. There’s something I wanted to show you. I’ll be right back.” Getting up, she heads down the hallway toward the guest room she and Burt are currently occupying. Less than a minute later, she’s back at the table, a folded piece of paper in her hand. “Here,” she says. “I read this in a book I checked out at the library recently, and I wanted to show it to you. The book was a selection of poems from a local indie writer. Apparently, that was her first book, and I really liked this poem.” At that moment, Kurt’s kettle on the stove begins to sing, and Carole starts to walk away. “You can read it while I get Kurt’s tea steeping,” she says, giving him a soft smile.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay.” Carefully, Blaine unfolds the paper. It’s an evident photocopy of the poem, and he grins to himself. Technically, Carole just broke the copyright laws, but he won’t tell anyone. It was sweet of her to think of him. His eyes naturally wander to the top of the page, and he begins to read.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>I often use smiles as a way to deceive…</em>
  </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I lay surrounded by the heavy heads of golden wheat.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The sun beat brightly on the dusty street.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The birds called, singing sweetly in the trees.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The butterflies played happily on the cool breeze.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>A tractor could be heard, plowing soil in the distance.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>My world was on the path of least resistance.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Rising, I walked to the nearby wall and looked beyond,</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Past the world of which I was most fond.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The blowing wind through the gray and black</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Made me wish to turn ‘round and ne’er look back.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But curiosity overtook me; I had to know that world.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I climbed the wall that guarded me as wind swirled.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Soon, I stood on the frozen ground beyond my border.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I shivered, the air blowing wildly, ever colder.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I yearned to go back to the sunny side,</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But a hand grabbed my wrist; I slipped, my arms flailing wide.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>A foul smell hit my nose like a bomb exploding.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I spun on my heel; my heart began pounding.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>A hooded face looked at me, evil pouring from his veins. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I was suddenly struck with innumerable pains.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>A bag cascaded over my head and ‘round my shoulders.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I was shoved to the ground, his dead weight like a boulder.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He lay there forever, choking air from my lungs.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I gasped for my breath, and my nerve endings stung.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I couldn’t move my limbs, couldn’t twist, couldn’t turn.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I felt my head and my neck start to burn.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Unto this current hour, I’m still crushed on the ground.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>My pain waves convince me it’s likely I’ve drowned.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Most days are like that without much reprieve. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I often use smiles as a way to deceive.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Some days are better, but most days are worse.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It’s hard to believe I was once more than this curse.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Blaine reads through the poem twice, and by the time he’s finished, Carole is just sliding back into her seat. She takes a sip of her coffee. “What did you think?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That was beautiful,” Blaine replies thoughtfully, his eyes skimming over the page again. “Who is she, the author? Does she have fibro?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Carole shrugs. “I don’t know. I looked her up online, and I couldn’t find any information about that. Unfortunately, her name is escaping me right now. I can find out what it is and send it to you, if you’d like.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Would you? Please? I’d really appreciate that.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” Carole replies with a smile. She’s about to say something else to Blaine when Burt walks into the room, still wiping the sleep from his eyes. “Morning,” he greets in his quiet drawl. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good morning, my dear,” Carole answers, smiling at her husband. Her conversation with Blaine is over now, but that’s okay. She can tell by the way that Blaine is still smiling at the poem on the page in front of him that they’ve formed a connection much deeper than they had before. She’s hopeful that it will lead somewhere else over the weekend. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For the rest of the day, everything is a blur for Blaine. He spends most of his time on the couch, watching as everyone else bustles around the house. He wishes he could be up helping and moving around more, but each time he tries to move to do something for himself, someone ushers him to sit back and gets him whatever he needs. The only reprieve he gets from the constant babying is his trips to the bathroom. He stays a little longer than necessary, just to have a moment to breathe.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kurt takes off a little before 11. He’s got to be there early for makeup, and he’s sure that Will will want to run through a few scenes before the crowd starts pouring in. Before he heads out the door to catch the personal car that Will’s called for him, Kurt stops by the couch to whisper to Blaine. “I love you,” he says, leaning in close to press a soft kiss to Blaine’s lips. “If you need anything, I’m sure Carole will help. Or my dad. Or Finn. And, you can always call me if you need me to bite someone’s head off for you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Blaine giggles. “I’m sure I won’t need that; I’m not afraid of your family, Kurt.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know. Still, I’m only a phone call away if you need me. Will you come see me at the stage door after the show?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll try,” Blaine promises. “I’ll need my cane tonight, though. Is that alright?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of course it is!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It doesn’t embarrass you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That my husband has a cool-ass cane to walk around with? Why would it?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Canes are for old men, Kurt.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, you’re the sexiest old man I know,” Kurt tells him, a smile on his face.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Blaine blushes. “Thanks. Are we having dinner after?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If you’re up to it. I made a reservation, but we can always cancel.” Glancing at his phone, Kurt hurriedly leans in to kiss his husband again. “I really have to go, Blaine. I’m sorry. I love you, and I’ll see you after the show.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I love you, too,” Blaine says, kissing back. “Break a leg, Kurt.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thanks.” On his way out the door, Finn steps into his path. “What do you want, Finn?” Kurt asks, his face flushing. “There’s a car waiting downstairs for me, and I really need to go! I’m going to be late!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Bro. I just wanted to tell you goo--”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t say that!” Burt and Blaine yell at the same time, turning to look at one another and bursting into laughter.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Finn furrows his brow. “What’s so funny? And, why shouldn’t I tell Kurt goo--”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s bad luck, honey. Remember?” Carole says, flashing Burt and Blaine amused smiles. “You have to say, ‘Break a leg,’ if you want to say something.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Finn’s face colors just a bit. “Oh yeah. I remember Rachel yelled at me once for saying that to her one night before a performance.” Turning to his brother, he slings an arm around his shoulder. “Break a leg, bro. But like, don’t get hurt or anything.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kurt can’t hold back his laughter this time. “I won’t. Thank you, Finn.” He pulls the door open and steps into the hallway, glad to finally be on his way. As the door shuts behind him, he hears Blaine call, “Don’t forget: the show must go all over the place!” The apartment breaks into laughter at that, and Kurt shakes his head fondly as he jogs down the hallway. His brother certainly </span>
  <em>
    <span>doesn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> have a way with words.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Blaine and his in-laws have a lazy afternoon, none of them able to contain their excitement about Kurt’s show that evening. They try to watch some TV, but they keep changing the channel; nothing holds their attention because they constantly get distracted thinking about that night. They try to play a few games of poker, but Blaine’s brain is too foggy for him to really get the hang of the game, so they decide to put that up quickly. Finally, around three, Blaine announces that he’s going to take a nap. He can feel the ache in his muscles intensifying the longer he thinks about Kurt’s show; he’s excited and nervous at the same time, a horrible combination for a flare day.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I think I’m going to lay down for a while,” he announces to his in-laws, struggling up from the couch. “We need to leave around five if we don’t want to have to shove through too big a crowd to get to our reserved seats.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The show doesn’t start until seven!” Finn protests, looking up from his phone. “What will we do for two whole hours?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Blaine shrugs, limping toward his bedroom. “Charge your phone, Finn. All we can do is sit and wait.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I hate waiting.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hush,” Burt and Carole say at the same time. “You’ll be fine.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When Blaine falls into bed, he lets out a groan, slowly twisting himself into a comfortable position. He hadn’t realized until he laid down exactly how exhausted he was. Usually, his head was falling to his chest and his eyes closing of their own accord, unable to fight off the waves of exhaustion coursing through his veins. Today, though, he’s been able to ignore that thanks to his pent up excitement about Kurt’s show. He can tell that his emotions are starting to wear him down, and he smiles to himself as he plugs in his phone and snuggles down under the covers, finally letting everything relax. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Kurt will be so proud of me for realizing I needed a nap</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he thinks to himself. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He’s always after me to take care of myself and not push myself past my breaking point.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As he falls asleep, Blaine lets his mind go back to the poem that Carole showed him again. That line, that one line, the title has really struck a chord somewhere in his heart. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I often use smiles as a way to deceive… </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That’s true,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he thinks with a yawn. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I so often wear a mask to hide what I’m feeling…</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When Blaine wakes again, it’s almost four thirty, and a bolt of panic flies through him. “Shit!” he mutters, sitting up so fast his head spins for a moment. “I’ve gotta get ready to go. We’re going to be late.” Far faster than he should, he pushes himself out of bed and onto his feet, holding tightly to one of the blankets to keep himself from falling as he sways wildly. Then, on his way to the bathroom, he trips over a wayward shoe and nearly falls. He’s able to catch himself on their dresser, but not before he knocks a few things off, sending them clattering to the ground.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you alright?” Carole calls from the guest bathroom. “Did you fall?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No!” Blaine calls back. He sounds exhausted and irritated, and he immediately regrets it, softening his tone as he says, “I’m okay. I promise.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” Carole calls back. “We’re all getting ready to go, but don’t worry. We’ve got plenty of time.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Can she read minds?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Blaine wonders as he slowly makes his way into the bathroom, plopping down on the stool he and Kurt have placed in there for just that purpose. He considers whether or not he should take a shower and ultimately decides against it. He needs to save his strength; he really wants to see Kurt at the stage door and go out for dinner following the show. His husband deserves to be celebrated. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s slow going, but by a few minutes after five, Blaine is ready to go. He’s put on his best suit, the one he knows makes Kurt go a little crazy because it’s a beautiful, understated red color that hugs his ass in all the right places. He’s put on his favorite cologne, put just enough gel in his hair to keep his curls from sticking out in a million places, and he’s got his cane on his arm. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Finn gives him a funny look when he comes out of the bathroom with it slung over his arm, dress shoes in hand. “What’s that for?” he asks, pointing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Balance.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What, do you like fall and stuff?” Finn is thoroughly confused, and unfortunately for Blaine, there’s no one else around him to answer the questions.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I have before,” Blaine answers simply. “On my bad days, it’s good to have it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But, aren’t canes for, like, grandpas and stuff?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Usually.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re not even old.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Finn Hudson, that is enough,” Carole calls out from the bathroom. “Leave Blaine alone. He’s told you what his cane is for, and he doesn’t need you to make fun of him.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Finn turns back to his brother-in-law with a guilty expression. “Sorry. I was just curious.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay, Finn. I understand. I’m...weird.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re not weird, honey,” Carole says. “You’re sick, and you’re taking care of you the best way you know how.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Blaine answers. He wants to tell her he doesn’t like being labeled like that. Sick. Makes him sound like he’s going to die at any moment. He’s not. At least, he doesn’t think so. Fibro doesn’t shorten your lifespan. He doesn’t tell Carole that, though. He just keeps his mouth shut, holding back his groans as he leans over to put on his dress shoes and tie the laces tight. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ten minutes later, they’re on their way to the theater, and Blaine’s glad they’re not walking. The elevator is out in their building--Kurt has forgotten to tell him that, but it’s okay; he’s busy--so he’s already had to go down a long flight of stairs. He’s not sure his knees can take a whole lot more. Thankfully, as Kurt’s official guests, the theater sent a car for them as well, so they’re riding in luxury to the theater, and Blaine’s content to stretch his legs out in front of them as the driver winds their way through the crowded NYC streets to the theater. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When they pull up out front, Blaine pauses a moment to take a picture of the marquee. “Kurt Hummel as Evan Hansen” it reads. “Dear Evan Hansen: September 11-25 only!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Finn lets out a low whistle. “So, Kurt’s a really big deal, huh?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Blaine gestures widely to the people standing out front, just waiting to get in. On the sidelines are news reporters and a few paparazzi wait to take the Hudson-Hummel’s and Hummel-Anderson’s pictures as they get out of the car. “I guess you could say that,” he replies.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Everybody ready?” Burt asks, and they all take a deep breath before opening the car doors. Thankfully, there is security standing right there, waiting to take them inside. They’re all relieved when they make it out of the buzzing noise and into the quiet of the not-yet packed theater.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Let me show you to your seats,” a woman says.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They follow her down the empty aisle to the first row. They’re taken to the four middle seats, a great view of the stage where Kurt will be.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“These are you,” the woman says, smiling wide. “Would you like me to have someone inform Mr. Hummel that you’re here?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is he able to come out and see us for a moment?” Blaine asks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Perhaps,” the woman answers. “I’ll have someone let him know you’d like to see him.” Then, she bustles away. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>While they wait, Blaine decides to post the photo he took of the marquee. As he’s working on writing a caption for Instagram, Finn, who’s sitting to Blaine’s right, leans over.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why doesn’t that say Kurt Hummel-Anderson?” he asks. “Aren’t you guys, like, married?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We are,” Blaine replies cooly, not stopping typing. “You were at our wedding, Finn. I think you’d know.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I was just checking that I didn’t miss something,” Finn defends. “Sorry.” Under his breath, he mumbles, “Kinda rude today.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Finn, be nice,” Carole begins, but Blaine holds up a hand.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Finn, I’m sorry,” Blaine says, turning to face his brother-in-law. “I’m sorry I snapped at you. It wasn’t fair. I’m not used to so many questions, and I’m in a lot of pain. That is not, however, an excuse to be rude. So, I’m sorry. I hope you’ll forgive me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Blinking at him for a few moments, Finn finally squeaks out, “Yeah. I, uh, I forgive you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Blaine replies, returning to his texting. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At just a few minutes before six, Kurt makes a quick appearance, already dressed in his costume and done up in his makeup. Finn sees him first and points. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s Kurt!” he calls loudly. “Look!” Then, he narrows his eyes. “Dude. Did you break your arm? I know we told you to break a leg, but we weren’t serious that you should actually break something.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kurt narrows his eyes and is about to say something when he notices the huge grin on his brother’s face. “You think you’re funny,” he observes. “Haha.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I thought that was a good joke!” Finn complains, pouting at his mom.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Very funny, honey,” Carole soothes, patting at his back. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So, how was the drive here?” Kurt asks, leaning against the stage as he chats. “Did the car come for you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It was really nice,” Burt says. “The car was awesome, and security was very fast here. You work for some good people, Kurt.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“They’re good to me,” Kurt replies, glancing over at Blaine. “How are you holding up, Blaine?” he asks. He knows his husband is very good at hiding things, so he wants to check in.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m okay. I took my meds before we came, I’ve got my cane, and there’s peppermint oil in my jacket pocket along with ibuprofen if I need it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Good." Kurt smiles. He makes small talk with them for a few more minutes before walking over to Blaine's seat. He leans in, pressing the tiniest of kisses to Blaine's cheek. "I don't want to get lipstick on you," he whispers in his ear, "but I love you very much. Thank you for being here."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I wouldn't miss it," Blaine whispers back. "No amount of pain in the world would stop me." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With one more gentle kiss to his husband's cheek, Kurt waves goodbye to them, and the last stage of waiting begins. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As soon as the theater workers are sure that Kurt is completely out of sight, guests start pouring in. Blaine is thankful they've kept a seat of space between Kurt's family and the rest of the audience. He would be far too uncomfortable sitting close to someone he doesn't know. Besides that, he's rather uncomfortable anyway. He needs something to put his legs up on. They're starting to throb in the worst way, and he can almost feel his ankles beginning to swell in his shoes. He shifts every few minutes trying to find a comfy position, but there doesn't seem to be one.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Finn leans over, concern on his face. "Dude, you okay? You need to pee or somethin'?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"No, Finn. I'm fine."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Poop then? Why are you movin' around so much?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Just trying to get comfortable."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Finn nods, but he doesn't look convinced. A moment later, he's leaning back over. "Can I help?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I need to put my legs up," Blaine explains, surprised Finn is being rational for once. "If you ask one of the theater attendants, they should be able to get a small stool for me."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"On it," Finn says, rising. A few minutes later, he's back, a small stool matching the red upholstery of the theater seats in his hands. "Here you go, bro," he says triumphantly, putting it on the floor in front of Blaine. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Thank you."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"No problem."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The waiting is a little bit easier after that. The ache settles deeper into his arms, and the noise of the gathering crowd is causing his temple to pulsate a little. He'll survive, though. A little pain is worth it to watch his husband succeed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Finally, the theater goes dark, and the curtain opens. Blaine sucks in a breath; his husband is sitting cross-legged on a bed, and he looks amazing, so much younger than he is and exactly how Blaine always imagines he’ll look as Evan Hansen. The entire time, Blaine can’t tear his eyes away from the stage. He’s completely mesmerized by Kurt’s performance, and each song he sings sends shivers down Blaine’s spine, especially </span>
  <em>
    <span>You Will Be Found</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It’s a song that Blaine’s always connected with, ever since Kurt played him the album for the first time, but it strikes different, more personal chords when he listens to his husband sing it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Blaine realizes, as he listens to Kurt’s honey-smooth voice sing the words to the song he knows by heart, that if it wasn’t for his husband, he would have become permanently lost in the darkness of his pain, depression, and anxiety. Of course, there’s always the possibility that without his absence, Blaine may never have experienced fibromyalgia in the first place, but he’s long ago let the that train of thought go; his life is better with Kurt in it, pain and all, and he wouldn’t change the past or their relationship for anything in the world. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There is one other song that has Blaine’s eyes filling with tears as he watches his Kurt on that stage: </span>
  <em>
    <span>Words Fail</span>
  </em>
  <span>. There are two lines, in particular, that send him into another thought spiral… </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>I'd rather pretend I'm something better than these broken parts</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Pretend I'm something other than this mess that I am”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Since his diagnosis, Blaine’s learned something. He’s figured out that there is a fine line to be walked between acceptance and definition. He accepts that he’s got fibromyalgia. He accepts, as often as he can, that there will be days when he simply can’t do the things he wants to do. He accepts that there is no longer an opportunity for him to go back to the way he was, to rid his body of this daily pain, to be normal again. But he can’t let that define him. He can’t just </span>
  <em>
    <span>be </span>
  </em>
  <span>the man with fibromyalgia, the man with pain, the man who, at 25 years old, functions--more often than not--like a man nearly quadruple his age. He is more than that. He’s also the man who’s written one hundred twenty-five poems. He’s also the man married to one of the most successful Broadway performers in the world. He’s also the man who loves his husband, his family, and his friends so deeply that he’d give them all he has in order to keep them safe and happy. He’s learned, though it’s taken him an awfully long time that he, Blaine Devon Anderson, </span>
  <em>
    <span>is not</span>
  </em>
  <span> fibromyalgia. He merely </span>
  <em>
    <span>has </span>
  </em>
  <span>fibromyalgia.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kurt is amazing. He stands on the stage and performs his heart out, and when the show’s over, when all the actors and actresses reconvene on the stage for their final bow, the crowd is on their feet, applauding his performance and cheering loudly. Kurt gets a standing ovation on his opening night, and he smiles wide, taking it all in. His eyes immediately find Blaine in the crowd, and tears prick behind his eyelids when he realizes that Blaine is standing, too, holding himself up with his cane, but standing nonetheless. There’s a broad smile on his face, one that Kurt knows so well. And, as he watches, he sees Blaine mouth, “I am so proud of you,” in his direction. He can’t wait to see his husband at the stage door.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When Kurt makes it out the door about thirty minutes after the show, he scans the huge crowd for his husband and family. He doesn’t get long to look as the crowd pushes in even closer, and everyone is clamoring to tell him congratulations and get his autograph. It’s not until the crowd thins out significantly that Kurt spots Finn, Carole, and Burt standing toward the back of the group that’s still standing there. He looks a little longer, but he can’t see Blaine. He fights back the urge to be disappointed. He knows Blaine’s having a bad day; it’s entirely possible he wasn’t able to stand that long. He keeps wearing his smile, signing autographs, and thanking his fans until his father, step-mother, and brother are the only ones left standing there. The rest of his fellow actors have gone back inside, but he stays to chat with them for a moment.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Where’s Blaine?” he asks softly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He tried to stand out here, buddy, but he couldn’t make it that long,” Burt explains, regarding his son with sad eyes. “He tried, but there were so many people. He ended up going back inside to wait for you.” He pauses. “He’s so proud of you, though, Kurt. And, so am I.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Me, too, bro,” Finn says, patting him roughly on the back while Carole looks on with a wide smile, nodding in agreement.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You were amazing, bud. I may not know much about Broadway, but I know that was phenomenal,” Burt continues. He leans in a little closer to whisper, “Your mom would be so proud.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thanks, Dad,” Kurt answers, trying to fight back the tears threatening to spill out. “I’m going to finish gathering my stuff so we can go. I’m starving. You guys will go back in and wait with Blaine? I’ll only be a few minutes.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We’ll get him,” Carole reassures. “Finish whatever you need to.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” Kurt tells them, stepping back inside. He’s quick about gathering his things, doing silent calculations in his head. Blaine’s already been out of the house for nearly five hours. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Even though he’s been sitting for most of that time, the stress and anxiety of being out for that long is definitely going to be getting to him</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Kurt thinks to himself. He shoves everything into his duffel bag and takes a moment to stop in front of a mirror and use a moist towelette to take off some of the stage makeup. As he’s wiping off the last of the eye makeup, Will comes over.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Great performance tonight, Kurt,” he says, patting his shoulder. “I assume you’re coming to the cast afterparty?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” Kurt says apologetically. “Not tonight. My dad’s in town with his wife and my brother, and I’d like to spend some time with them. My husb--”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re not going to use his pain as an excuse again, are you?” Will interjects. “You’ve used that so many times in the past to get out of cast events. Everyone knows it’s bogus. We all talk about it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At this announcement, Kurt turns to the other man, glaring sharply at him. “Excuse me?” he says, his voice a hiss from the back of his throat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, come off it, Hummel,” Will replies. “Just be honest and tell us you don’t want to hang out with us. We’ve all seen your husband; he looks fine.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of course he does, you buffoon!” Kurt all but shouts at the other man, standing from his seat. “Have you ever heard of an invisible illness? You had better apologize and quickly, or tonight will be the only show I ever perform for you.” His eyes snap with electricity as he stares into the other man’s face.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Invisible because it doesn’t exist,” Will mutters.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s it. I quit,” Kurt announces, abandoning his moist towelettes on the counter in favor of grabbing up his stuff and heading for the door.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You can’t be serious,” Will calls after him. When that doesn’t stop Kurt’s departure, he hurries after him. “Fine. Wait. Don’t leave! Kurt, don’t leave I-I want to apologize.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They’ve already made it out into the theater, and Kurt can see Blaine and his family at the back of the room, watching him and the director with big eyes. “Make it quick,” he hisses when he turns around. “And quiet. I don’t want my husband to hear you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” Will says. “I shouldn’t question your decisions about your husband or your family. I’m sorry I accused you of faking Blaine’s illness. I’m sure it’s.. Um, very real.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Will’s voice is definitely not quiet enough, and even though it’s not very loud, Kurt can hear Blaine’s gasp and subsequent sob from all the way across the room. He glares at Will as he says, “Consider yourself lucky when I tell you this: I’ll stay. But not for you. For Blaine. If he thought that he was the reason I quit the show, he’d never forgive himself. Just know, though, Will Schuester, that when I’m done with this show, I’ll be sure to let my actor friends know exactly how you treat your actors. They’ll never work with you again.” With that, Kurt spins on his heel and walks away, leaving the other man standing by the stage, his mouth gaping open. He knows that, for the remainder of the show run, there will be tension between himself and his director. Normally, Kurt would feel bad about using his power as one of the top actors on Broadway to bring someone else down, but this isn’t the first time he’s heard rumors about Will mistreating his actors, and he’s sure it won’t be the last. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As quickly as he can, Kurt makes his way over to his family, but he can tell that Blaine’s upset. Carole is crouched on the ground in front of his husband, talking softly to him. He can see Blaine wiping a few tears off his cheeks as he nods at something Carole has said. Burt and Finn are standing nearby looking absolutely lost, and they give Kurt sympathetic looks as he walks up. Kurt ignores them, falling to his knees beside his husband. “Blaine, please don’t cry,” he begins. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Kurt, I’m so sorry,” Blaine says instead, stopping his husband before he can speak further. “I don’t know what you were arguing about with him, but I’m sorry I’m behind it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Honey, you can’t blame yourself,” Kurt tries, reaching for his hand. “Will was being an asshole, just like he is to all his actors. You’ve heard the rumors, too. If you don’t give him what he wants, he finds a way to get at you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But it was about me, wasn’t it?” Blaine guesses. “About how I’m holding you back or keeping you from doing something that you should be doing?” He stares intently at his husband, waiting for confirmation.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Unable to lie to him, Kurt nods. “But--”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“This is what I was afraid of,” he says immediately, turning away from Kurt and covering his face with his hands. “I was afraid that I’d hold you back, keep you from being the person you’ve wanted to be. You don’t get to hang out with your friends or go to parties because of me. I knew this would happen. I-I bet you wish you’d ne--” He can’t finish the rest of his sentences breaking down in sobs. The idea is too much for him to even think, let alone say.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Never,” Kurt assures him, nudging his husband’s chin toward him until he can almost see Blaine’s eyes. “I never, not even for one second, regret marrying you. You hold me back from nothing. You, Blaine Hummel-Anderson, are the person who gives me wings. You keep me flying when I’d rather be home taking care of you, not because you don’t want me but because you can see who I want and need to be.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Typically, Kurt would be a little more cautious about speaking like this in front of his father, step-mother, and brother, but this is too important; he doesn’t care who’s around.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I love you,” he says, reaching forward further to uncover Blaine’s eyes. “I love you so much, and I love you more every single day. I don’t care what the other actors are doing. That’s not important to me. You are. You’re the most important thing to me. You are. Not some dumb afterparty, not drinks at the bar, and definitely not the whims of William Schuester.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Blaine sniffles, studying his husband’s eyes again. When he does speak, his voice is a hoarse whisper. “You didn’t sign up for the ‘in sickness and in health’ thing so soon.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kurt shakes his head. “I signed up for it the day I said ‘I do.’ I didn’t know if it would happen the next day, in three weeks, or in five years. It didn’t matter. When I said it that day, I meant it for every day. Every day from that exact moment on. I didn’t promise it only after you turned 65. Every day, Blaine. You’re the love of my life, and I am in this with you until the very end, as long as you’ll have me. You’re my world.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I shouldn’t have to be.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I want you to be.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Blaine doesn’t say anything to that. Instead, he leans forward, falling directly into Kurt’s arms. He cries into his husband’s shoulder for a few minutes, letting out all the pent up emotions, stress, and worry he’s been feeling over the last few hours. It makes him feel a little bit better, and he doesn’t let himself indulge for long. They have somewhere to be. Pulling back, he brushes away the leftover tears on his eyelashes, smiling a little as Kurt leans in to kiss away a few stray tears. When he feels like he finally can, he asks, “Are you ready to go to the restaurant?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Actually, I’d like to just go home,” Kurt says. “I know you’ve got to be in a lot of pain, and I’m really only in the mood to celebrate with you guys now. I don’t want to see anyone I don’t love until as late as possible tomorrow.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Frowning, Blaine asks, “Kurt, are you sure? I can make it. We don’t have to go home because of me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s not because of you,” Kurt reassures him. “It’s because of me. And, yes. I’m sure. I’ll call and cancel our reservation and have them deliver?” For the first time since he walked away from Will, Kurt makes eye contact with his family.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Whatever you want, dude,” Finn says with a nod. “Can we get cake, though? I was really hoping for some lava cake.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll definitely order you some lava cake,” Kurt says with a chuckle. “Anyone else have any special requests?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Burt and Carole both shrug. “Whatever you want, dear,” Carole tells him. “Your dad and I aren’t picky.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay. There should be a car out front, waiting to take us back to the apartment. I’ll call when we get settled in there.” Reaching out, Kurt helps Blaine to rise from his seat on shaky legs, holding onto him until he’s steadied himself on his cane to move and take his hand. “Escort me to our car, handsome?” he asks with a smile.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’d be delighted,” Blaine says, giving him a smile in return. “It’s not every day a fellow gets to escort </span>
  <em>
    <span>the </span>
  </em>
  <span>Kurt Hummel to his waiting car.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Kurt elbows him good-naturedly. “Unless that fellow is you,” he says quietly, nuzzling his husband’s cheek. “The only man I’d ever let escort me to my car.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m honored,” Blaine replies, slowly following Kurt’s family out of the theater.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I love you,” Kurt whispers as they wait for Finn to find a seat in the car. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I love you, too,” Blaine replies, a lone tear slipping down his cheek. “More than you could know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <span>“I think I have a pretty good idea,” Kurt replies. He slides into the car behind his husband, and with one arm wrapped securely around Blaine’s shoulders, he tells the driver to take them home. </span>
  <em>
    <span>The only place I want to be</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he thinks to himself. </span>
  <em>
    <span>The best place on earth.</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The poem that Blaine reads in this chapter is an original by me. I wrote it a few months ago and decided to share it with all of you via Carole.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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